


In Response to S21 E2

by Temporarily



Category: South Park
Genre: Copious Uses of Dumb Pet Names, Cuddles, Don't Mess With Craig's Boyfriend, Fluff, Humor, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Put it down, S21 E2, Sharing a Bed, Sickfic, Some texting, South Park is Absurd
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-21
Updated: 2018-09-21
Packaged: 2019-07-15 01:50:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,529
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16052945
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Temporarily/pseuds/Temporarily
Summary: Craig Tucker is the best boyfriend who doesn't take shit from anyone, not even the President of the United States.





	In Response to S21 E2

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this a few months after Put It Down aired. It’s ancient by internet standards. Since today is the one-year anniversary of this legendary episode, enjoy some very fluffy Creek.

The "Put it Down" music video citizens of South Park released was undeniably a huge success. Not only did it get over ten million views in under forty-eight hours, but within those forty-eight hours the number of indirect hit-and-run victims of the Tweeter in Chief was reduced to one. 

Ironically, that singular victim was Tweek.  

Craig spent Friday morning wondering where his boyfriend was, texting into a digital void normally filled with typos and idle anxious musings. At lunch his creeping suspicions that something was horribly wrong were confirmed. Clyde informed their whole group the social media grapevine reported Tweek’s whereabouts to be, in fact, at the hospital. “They’re saying he’s in really bad shape!” the brunette fretted. “He could be  _dying!_ "  

The savior of the guineapigapocalypse got up, walked out of the building, and was at Hell's Pass Hospital in less than an hour. (That was the nice thing about living in such a small town. It never took too long to get anywhere.) 

"He's a very lucky boy," Dr. Doctor explained. "It was only a glancing impact. Instead of being smashed against the front of a soccer mom's minivan and squished into a pulpy jelly of epidermal mush, organs, and bone fragments--" What the HELL was  _wrong_ with this Doctor!? "--he bounced right off the front right headlamp. Your twitchy little boyfriend has nothing more to worry about than a severe concussion, bruising, and some internal bleeding." Craig gave the Doctor his most withering glare, the kind of glare he usually reserved for a select group of trouble-inducing idiot classmates. He would have flipped him the bird too, but his hands were a bit preoccupied with clutching Tweek's limp digits.  

"Why isn't he awake?" he asked in an accusatory manner. Dr. Doctor shrugged. 

"Well, it is a  _severe_ concussion."  

 ---

Late that night, Craig was startled awake by the sound of-- "AAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHH!!!!!" 

"Tweek!" He re-adjusted his chullo hat when it tried to slip off his head, then reached out to place a reassuring hand on the ball of trembling blankets. "Tweek, babe, coffee bean, it’s okay! You're okay, you're just in the hospital--" 

"GAAAAAAAAAAHHH!!!" 

"Ow, fuck, my eardrums. Ease up on the screaming a little bit, okay cupcake?" 

"Nnnggh--" The piercing shrieking shrieks subsided into muffled whimpers. 

"It's okay, it's fine, I was freaking out too but it's fine," Craig babbled. "Fuck, I was so worried. That Doctor was such an incompetent, twisted jackass--" Craig quickly changed strategies at the blond's sharp noise of distress. "But, uh. It turns out he actually knew what he was doing! Obviously." 

"Ev--ever--GAH!" Tweek poked his head out from under his pillow, face scrunched up and turning red with a cocktail of anxiety, confusion and-- "Everything HURTS!" --pain. Getting hit by a van will do that to you. 

"I know honey, I know..." Craig pushed a few especially static clumps of hair back from his boyfriend's forehead. "How's your head?"  

"It fucking HURTS!" 

"Um. Yeah. That's, to be expected I guess." 

"Why are there three of you!?!" 

"That's probably the concussion." 

"Fff-f-FUCK!" 

"Yeah." 

"I c-c-can't stay here man, they'll use me for their secret government sanctioned experiments!!! Do you have any idea how many people die in surgery from explosive equipment malfunctions?! It's w-w-WAY too many!!! AUGH!" Under normal circumstances Craig would regard such speculations as unlikely at best, and more than a bit ludicrous. But given the way the way Dr. Doctor seemed to  _mangle_ some of his patients...  

He tactfully chose not to point this out, instead opting for more gentle reassurances. "You don't need surgery Tweek, so try not to worry about that." 

"Doctors were sterilizing women without their knowledge or consent as recently as the 1970's!!! That's a real thing that happened Craig, I saw it online!" 

"Tweek, hon, do you even know what sterilizing women means?" 

"Nnn-nn-No?" 

"Good, 'cause neither do I." 

"It just sounds really freaking ominous!" 

"Can't argue there." 

"W-what if they sterilize ten-year-old boys too?! GAH! I gotta get out of here!!!" Tweek began thrashing around, trying to escape the prison of sheets only to let out a shriek of frustration when his entire body seized with pain. 

"No, wait! Just lie down Tweek, please!" Nurse Craig began untangling the sheets while his charge trembled with suppressed hysteria. "Look, I promise I won't let anyone do anything to you. I'm going to sit right here and you're going to lie right there and get better, and no one will kidnap or explode or sterilize you, alright?" Tweek still vibrated and twitched, but he seemed a little less upset.  

"H-hngh-how are you even here man? Visiting hours m-must have ended ages ago!"  

Craig smiled, it was more of a smirk, really. "Gay privilege." Tweek made a sound that was some strangely endearing combination of a snort and a giggle.  

"We should m-make sure there aren't any cameras, they could be recording this to sell to the shippers on the black market." The blond's face swiftly changed from amusement to horror as he realized his joke could be a legitimate concern. "Oh g-g-God, you don't think they'd actually DO that, would they?!" 

"I don't think so. But I can check for cameras if you want me to." 

"Nnn-no!" Tweek exclaimed, reassured by the mere offer. "You don't have to do that, I'm sure it's—NGH! It'll be fine! ...Thanks, though." 

"Sure thing sugar. Whatever makes you feel better." 

"And also thanks for being here," the blond said in a rush. "And for being so--NGH! A-amazing in general." Craig was grinning ear to ear, something that didn’t happen when he was around anyone else. 

"Thanks Angel Cakes." 

"Oh JESUS!" The coffee-addict threw a pillow over his face with embarrassment. "I t-take it back! That one was AWFUL! Bad Craig, bad boyfriend!" 

"Aw, but babe. It's part of my job description to call you pet names." 

"N-no it isn't you asshole!!!" Tweek threw the pillow at his boyfriend with very little force, and Craig caught it and put it back with very little effort. "I never asked you to call me p-PET NAMES!" 

"You never asked me not to either." There were a few beats of near-silence occupied by none but stalwart hospital citizens such as the gentle beeping of monitors, dripping of morphine, the hum of air vents. Then Craig inquired, sounding vaguely concerned, "Are you asking me not to?" 

"No!!!" 

"Okay then." The concern was immediately vacated from the premises to make room for a new tenant: Smugness.  

"De-dj-do you – I mmmean --" Craig waited patiently while the other boy struggled to find the correct words. He caught Tweek’s hands when the blond started yanking at his hair, breaths stuttering and uneven. "Wwwill-wuh-GUAH! Sleep w-NEXT TO! Just--" At this point Tweek abandoned words, moved over, and whacked the newly emptied spot on the bed next to him. "HERE!" 

"…'Kay." Tweek felt the weight of the mattress shift as Craig climbed in beside him. He kept his gaze firmly locked on the ceiling overhead and his teeth even more tightly clamped on his lower lip.  _Jesus Christ,_  he was such a wreck. He couldn't even ask his boyfriend if they could share a bed without having a nervous breakdown! Stupid freakish jumpy spazzy-- "Uh, hey." Craig held out his arms, offering a hug. "...Here?" A moment's hesitation, then Tweek rolled over and squished his face into Craig's shirt. This... was nice. 

...Yeah. It was exactly what he was trying to communicate. A request for warmth and a safe embrace. Here.  

"...I'm really happy you're alive Tweek." 

"Mmme too man! I'm NEVER going near another car again!" 

"We'll work up to going near cars. Baby steps for now, okay?" Tweek shivered and pressed himself closer against his boyfriend, fully aware that he couldn't stay away from cars forever, but content to ignore that fact for now.  

"...O-okay." He sighed morosely. "Our plan didn't work Craig. The song didn't fix anything." 

"No, Tweek, it did help, it helped a lot. We just need... A Plan B." 

"A Plan B? W-what kind of Plan B?" Craig's arms tightened around the small frame they sheltered, and something in his gaze froze over and sharpened.  

"Leave that to me babe. You focus on getting better, and I'll make sure nothing like this happens again."  

 ---

Craig stayed with his boyfriend at the hospital all weekend. By Monday Tweek was feeling secure enough to be left alone, so he went back to school. On Tuesday Tweek was checked out and assigned a few more days of rest at home. That evening, Craig Tucker boarded a plane without as much as a carry-on, the ticket purchased with 'Good Gay Son' money. 

He was in Washington DC by Wednesday.  

 ---

President Garrison was giving a press conference when a ten-year-old boy in a blue chullo hat walked into the room. Or rather, President Garrison's poor, frazzled PR manager of the week was fending off the horde of reporters while the man himself sat in the back, tweeting on his phone.  

Security stopped the boy when he tried to approach the stage, of course. Craig rolled his eyes and unzipped his jacket.  

"I don't have any weapons. I just want to talk to Mr. Garrison." 

"You sure about that kid?" the generic security guard muttered, leaning closer and staring at Craig over the rim of his shades. "Because just between you and me, I wouldn't object if you did try to off the Cheeto over there. I'd have to shoot you afterwards, but..." 

"Craig?" Mr. Garrison said, finally looking up from his phone long enough to recognize his former student. "Is that you Craig Tucker? Get over here you little piece of shit!" Craig obliged, and the President ignored his PR manager's suggestion that maybe now wasn't the best time, saying, "Fuck your press conference! This kid is from my hometown, which automatically makes him worth more than every single one of you ass-licking sycophantic media buzzards! Ya'll can go FUCK YOURSELVES! How are you doing Craig?" Garrison asked, turning from the reporters to the young boy.  

"Fine." 

"Anything interesting happening back home?" 

"Not really." 

"How about school, you still getting detention all the time?" 

"No." 

"Like hell you aren't, you filthy liar." Much to everyone's confusion, the President said this with a pleasant, almost fond smile. "What are you doing here Craig?" 

"This.” Craig Tucker snatched the President of the United States smartphone out of his hand, and threw it against the floor with all his might. The screen shattered instantly. The device flickered, popped a few sparks, and died. 

For a few seconds shock-induced silence ruled the room. 

"WHAT THE FUCK WAS THAT FOR?!"  

_"We told you. To put it. Down!"_ Craig announced,bristling with anger. The silence broke, and cameras flashed to life.  

"Aw GEEZ, are you talking about that faggy little music video you made?!" 

"You put my boyfriend in the hospital! Some dipshits were distracted by your 'Covfefe' tweet while they were driving and they ran him over! He could have DIED!" 

"Now WAIT JUST A MINUITE," Mr. Garrison protested, turning an impressive shade of splotchy pumpkin orange and puffing up like an aggressive spiny tropical fish in the face of this somewhat formidable and positively  _furious_  child. "Firstly, I am the PRESIDENT Craig Tucker, and you will show me some MOTHERFUCKING RESPECT. God, didn't they teach you the first thing about patriotism in that pissant school?" Craig fought the urge to kick his former teacher in the shins. "Second of lee--" 

"Actually, I believe the term is 'secondly,' Mr. President," a foolish reporter corrected. "You  _were_ a teacher Sir, shouldn't you know basic gramm--" 

"SHUT YOUR FUCKING MOUTH HOE!  _Second-of-lee,_ I really don't see how I'm at fault here! If dumbasses don't want to run over kiddy fags then they shouldn't look at twitter and drive at the same time! It's THAT simple!!!" Across the room, Caitlyn Jenner giggled and mumbled something about roadkill, fun, and buckaroos. 

Now, offensive language aside, under normal circumstances Mr. Garrison's logic would be, sadly, perfectly sound, and even fair. But this is a world in which reality has been rotting from his noose for almost two seasons. So instead of buying half a ton of explosives and leaving the entire capitol to burn like he so desperately longed to, Craig's rebuttal was, "How can you expect people to look away from their phones when a single tweet from you could launch us into nuclear war!?" What followed was the most childish argument to ever grace the history of US politics, which is really saying something. And yet, miraculously, this argument resulted in the President losing his tweeting privileges for the remainder of his time in office. The CEO of Twitter himself promised (via tweet) to have the account deleted. 

"Now that our biggest distraction is out of the way, we have no more excuses," Craig said as he addressed the cameras triumphantly. "It is every American's responsibility to pay attention while they drive. For fuck's sake people, I don't even have a license yet, why do I have to tell you this!? If you need incentive, just think: You never know who might want to wreck your shit because you ran over their loved one while checking twitter. 

"In conclusion, for your sake as well as everyone else's: Put it the fuck down." 

The young activist walked out of the room amid loud congratulations and cheering, and used his phone to book the first flight back to Denver.  

\---

From: Honey Pie 

GRAIG 

OHMYGOD CRAIG 

WHY ARE YOU ON NATIONAL TELEVISION!? 

WHAT ARE YOU DOING IN DC!? 

 

Holy fuck man! 

Is this video real!?! 

Did you actually slap the President's phone out of his hands?! 

You… you said… loved one??? 

NVER MIND GNORE THAT 

 

Craig, you're trending!!! 

#PutItDown is everywhere! 

You flipping off the camera is probably the most shared image in the world right now! 

And... for some reason Peru is hailing the return of their messiah? The fuck?? 

 

Hey man. I know you're probably on the plane back home but hopefully you'll see this when you touch down. I just wanted to say... 

I don't think I've ever been more impressed by anything in my whole life. 

Like, Jesus Christ! You stood up to the PRESIDENT OF THE UNITED STATES! 

You shut him down and took away his phone like he was a kinder-gardener! And now none of us have to put up with his shit anymore, so people all across the country love you! Except the ones who hate you now, but you can ignore them. You're the best at not giving a shit!

And, like... You flew all the way to DC for me? 

Nnnnggh!!! 

I just 

I can't believe it. I'm so happy. You are actually the best boyfriend in the universe. I should probably send the Asian girls flowers and a thank you note or something.  

I think the Mayor is organizing a parade in your honor to welcome you home? They want me to go help with that. 

Hah, you'll probably hate it. I'll try to make sure they don't go too overboard. :) 

See you soon Craig 

<3 


End file.
